If he passed out with his hand no longer sealing the wound， life would bleed out of him. Eric' s mind raced， ls this the end？
He had been in tight spots many times. Always he had pulled through. The key was emotional control， never to be so frightened that he could not think and act. Life' s too good. l' m too young to die on this death.
He had to get around the headland where he could been seen. Clambering to his feet， arm still clenched， he staggered up the beach. "Suck it up， Eric， " he told himself aloud. "Hike！ "
Eric understood what was happening to his body.While in graduate school in Montana he had spent two years as a ski-patrol volunteer and had earned a certificate in advanced first aid. The skill had served him through nearly a dozen rescues.
After 50 yards， he slumped on his backside. He needed to put his legs up， get more blood to his vital organs， but there was no time. He rested 30 seconds and stumbled on.
Twice more he dropped to the sand in a half-faint， He felt the blood pulsing under his hand， ready to spout. "Get tough！ " he commanded， tightening his grip.
Ahead， 300 feet away， was a cluster of four beach houses. He stumbled toward them. Then he could go no further he had to sit down. Blood pooled in the sand around him. "Help me！ " he cried.
In a small cottage at the edge of the beach， 16-year-old Ben Burdette heard someone yelling. Stepping outside， he saw a man lying on the sand. "Help！ " came a shout. " I' ve been attacked by a shark. Call 911."
Ben saw the man' s upraised arms were covered in blood. Turning on his heeds， he sprinted for the house.
Inside， Ben' s mother， Michele， heard her son at the phone. "...on the beach， bitten by a shark， looks pretty bad..."
She ran to the beach. The figure sprawled there was still crying out. She gasped at the gore of his legs and arms. Kneeling at his side， she saw his lips were gray. "I' m loosing it，"he said. "You have to stop the bleeding. My left arm. There' s a pressure point underneath， up near the armpit. Hold on tight."